Eyes of the Devil
by Lizzamil
Summary: Norman arrives at Weightless Heights. Reverse!Universe
1. Prologue

_**Eyes of the Devil**_

_**Prologue**_

_Warnings: Language and minor violence._

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><p>Glowing.<p>

That's what his eyes were doing. Glowing spring green, igniting white sparks, short flickers of electricity. Filled with malice and defiance. Illuminating the landscape of his features and making the black under his eyes stand out slightly. His expression was unreadable, but his intent could be smelled wafting off his aura. Right now he wanted to be left alone, but past that he wanted to hurt, to maim, to control. Play with his toys until they break themselves.

"I'm not someone you want to mess with, Gleeful." He stated, the tips of his fingers igniting with wisps of the same energy in his eyes.

Dipper smirked. "Really, Norman? You expect to frighten me with that little act of yours? You'll have to try harder than that."

Norman Babcock. The medium who teamed up with the witch, Agatha and destroyed Blithe Hollow for all the misery it's caused him. Finding different aspects to his powers after that.

_**'Not completely unexpected that he'd be attracted to Weightless Heights,' **_Dipper thought to himself.

What Norman hadn't expected though, were the twins. The town's sociopath and psychic duo, Mabel and Dipper Gleeful. It should have been obvious though. He had no idea where he'd been wandering and somehow found himself here...

Only to run into Dipshit himself. The situation was really starting to irk the anti-gravity haired medium. So he gave a warning shot right around Dipper's head. It was an off day. Meanwhile, the sociopath never even blinked. Asshole. "Careful there. For a second I thought you actually wanted to hit me." He teased.

"Leave me the fuck alone or the next one _will _be a hit, you arrogant piece of shit." Norman warned, low and malicious.

"You say that as it you're any better than I am."

This was true. The biggest difference was Dipper didn't need to burn a whole town down until it fell into hell for power. All he had to do was ask. Once again, asshole.

"Go piss a hole through a brick." With that, Norman sent sparkling electricity flying Dipper's way. The deranged psychic blocked, using the power form his amulet, it glowed an electrical blue whenever he used it.

"You fuck. You singed my hair." Dipper stated, his face contorting to slight disgust as he inspected the damage, the smell of madness rising from the crisped edges. "You'll pay for that."

With that said, Norman went flying against a tree, knocking the wind out of him. A sung hold kept pinning him against it. Dipper's face was decorated in a cocky grin. "You're jealous I don't have to work for power. Don't worry. It's natural. You can admit it. I couldn't really think less of you if I wanted-" Out of nowhere, a sigh. Dippers face was just centimeters away from Norman's.

"You always were inept at showing your admiration, brother. How do you expect to get antiquated if you just stop the fight to chat?" Mable Gleeful said, stepping out of the shadows. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Have I taught you nothing, brother dear? The best way to get to know someone is to fight them." She kept walking as she spoke. Closer, and closer. Her jacket was covered in blood spatter.

Dipper turned to her. "Finished already, Mabel? She must have been boring then? That Pacifica girl?" He asked his twin.

"No fight at all. All she did was beg, plead ad scream. I like to be challenged." There was nothing in Mable's eyes. No life, no light. They were just dull. Dipper turned back to Norman, face still only centimeters away. Eyes half-lidded, smile never leaving. He was _so _getting off on this.

"Why don't you go play with Gideon, hm? Find something else to do while I...entertain...our guest here." He murmured to Mabel. She folded her arms, "Why do you get all the fun ones? I'm older." Mabel pouted.

"By two seconds."

"Still counts."

"Because I'm smarter."

"I'm more sophisticated."

"Would you two shut up already and get your asses in gear? My back's starting to cramp up."

Both twins looked at Norman in a way that told him they forgot he was even there. ADD much?

Mabel sighed "Alright, fine. I'll leave you alone with your little 'celebrity crush'. You boys be good now. And by 'good' I mean don't screw him too hard. Leave some for me, will you?" And with that, Mabel left. Dipper sighed "She means well. Possibly."

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><p><span><em><strong>Author's note:<strong>_ Who knows if I'll ever finish this?


	2. Chapter 1

_**Eyes of the Devil**_

_**Chapter 1**_

_Warnings: Language_

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><p>Void darkness turned into a massive headache as soon as Norman tried to pry his eyes open. Consciousness can be a bitch sometimes. Which raises the question; how did he end up unconscious in the first place?<p>

_**'Maybe Dipshit hit my head against a tree or something**__,' _the medium decided. That _was _the last thing he remembered. Dipper holding him against a tree with some unseen force, his sister – Mabel – covered in blood and walking away from them after a conversation that consisted out of...something. Probably not all that important.

_**'Christ, this is worse than a migraine. I should probably make sure I'm not bleeding.'**_

He wasn't. He'd been out long enough for the blood to try. Well, considering he hadn't slept in two days...at least last time he was conscious it had been two days...

Shit, how long _had _he been out? That little piece of information was starting to seem _really _important right about now...then again, it was the same story with location. Which he didn't know because he'd yet to _open his eyes more than a fraction of a movement._

Well, he wasn't laying on the ground that was for sure. Too soft, too warm. More like a...bed. The air smelled a little woods-y, if a little clean. He was actually pretty comfortab –

_**'Where the fuck are my clothes?'**_

Despite them being closed, one of Norman's eyes twitched in annoyance. Well, at least he was under the sheets. And more importantly alone. Although that didn't excuse the fact that _someone _undressed him.

_**'Please god let it be Dipshit's sister. At least she doesn't have some sort of infatuation with me.'**_

No, in case you were wondering, gender did not matter. Men and women are capable of the same things, though they generally prefer different methods. No, what mattered was the boy who challenged him as soon as he stepped foot in _Weightless Heights, _pinned him against a tree, knocked his head into the aforementioned tree hard enough to give him a one-way ticket to fucking _la-la land _then dragged his ass all the way to where ever they were, stripped him bare and popped him into a bed _was a psycho with some obscene crush on him._

_**'Oh well. At least I'm not bored.'**_

Tentatively, because headaches suck, Norman started to open his eyes and look around. The room was a powdery blue. The carpet a dark grey. The bed was a three quarter with sheets in different shades of – yet more – blue. His clothes were folded on the side table. Cleaned, apparently. '_**Well that's...nice?' **_Norm thought, quickly pulling them on under the sheets. Can't be too careful. Crazies everywhere. Dipper was waiting downstairs. Blue dress clothes. Everything was just so _blue._

"Sit," the psychic commanded, indicating to the other end of the table he was sitting at. "I'm good, thanks," the medium declined. "Sit down. Food will be out soon. When someone hospitably offers you food and accommodation, it's usually customary to accept. Unless, you were aiming to disrespect your host?" Dipper said. There was a tone to his voice that warned danger in declining his offer again. Although – and this could totally be his imagination it was way too subtle to actually be there – a tone of vulnerability. Like Norman's decision to join him for breakfast or not might break him if he answered wrong. Which might be dangerous. Rule #1 of being kidnapped by psychos: Be complaint and don't piss them off. It might end up getting you killed. So Norman sat down. It was slight, but there was a slump in Dipper's shoulders as he blew out a breath, looked up and gave Norman a shy (nope, totally relieved) and pleased smile.

Yes, there was teeth. And it also made him look a bit like a tipsy flirt. Just sayin'.

Just as Norman sat down, as if that was cue, a random pedestrian (whom he didn't even really look up at) served them a generous pile of pancakes with a large variety of toppings. Norman always kept his eyes on Dipper. Last night (was it even last night? Could have probably been some random night last week as far as spiky-head knew) was dark. The most he'd really been able to see of his opponent was a blue glow from his amulet that casted dark and eerie shadows.

Now, though, they were in broad day light. Well, as broad as it could get with windows in a suburban house. A really nice, _clean_ one.

Brown hair - lighter than Norman's - combed back to reveal an odd birthmark in the shape of the 'big dipper'. Deceivingly warm brown eyes. No wonder the town ate out of his hands. Couldn't have been much older than everyone's favourite medium, maybe like a year or so. Who knows? It's not like obliterating your hometown at the age of eleven and living as the life of a nomad for five years did a lot of wonders for a person. Especially if most of your day consists of trying to tune out the very people you let burn. Not that Norman felt the least bit guilty. In fact he felt so little guilt that he was just sitting here across from a psychic psycho, dwelling on how the voices have started to quiet down. Not stop, just as if someone turned down a volume button.

Of course, that smug grin being sent his way really started to pull his attention. "Can't have any angry spirits pay us a visit now can we?" And there go the alarm bells.

"This place is warded." Norman observed, keeping his voice flat. If Dipper had his house warded against spirits, then Norman was basically left to his own devices, seeing as those extra aspects to his powers were basically an angry spirit. Getting away may require a little more planning than he initially assumed.

Well, there are a few things that Norman figured he'd rather have beached out of his brain. For instance that smug grin and victorious gleam that decorated Dipshit's face when knew if it weren't for his wards, Weightless Heights would be on fire. Or when he realised Norman had to make an effort at looking indifferent and how he'd complimented the medium's ability to make his already cool blue eyes seem even colder in his anxious state instead of panicked or even the least bit thrown off. In fact, this whole experience could go and hang itself.

"Of course you're going to be angry with me now. I'm keeping you here against your will, after all. But that won't last too long."

"That's a little cocky, don't you think?" Norman sneered, which in turn just caused Dipper's grin turn all the more predatory.

"Oh, we'll see."

"So how's this going to work? Chain me up in the basement?"

"As tempting as that sounds I doubt you'd eventually stay of your own free will. You'll just stay in the guest room."

"Then you won't mind if I decide to go for a walk," As he said this Norman was already getting up, causing Dipper to follow.

"It's a nice day out. I'll just join you. In case you lose your way back, of course."

**-Eyes Of The Devil-**

Ten minutes. The average time a person stays unconscious after a blow to the head is ten minutes.

Of course, different factors contribute to that e.g. height, weight, age, object used, weight and shape of object used which contributes to force. Usually. Well, considering he used a tree it's not likely he swung it at Norman's head like a baseball bat, now is it? And it's not like he even used a lot of force. As a matter of fact, it wouldn't even have caused him a concussion. So over all, an expectancy of ten minutes before Norm woke up would have been a good guess. There must have been a variable missing somewhere, Dipper's math couldn't have been _that _off. Planning was his strong point, he'd been so careful.

So how in hell was it that it took Norman _eleven freaking hours _to wake up?

It was at the ninth hour that the younger Gleeful twin resultantly lost his shit.

"I don't _get it_, Mabel! What did I miss?!" coffee table hit the wall. Unfazed, Mabel sat cross legged and took another sip of her tea, patiently waiting for her brother to finish ranting. "There must have been a factor missing, my calculations were to a point! I've been deprived of information!"

"You've been deprived of observation."

"What are you even talking about?"

"Not only did Norman miss with his first shot, he also threatened you. From all you're surveillance of him, I thought you'd now Norman doesn't threat unless he doesn't feel motivated for a fight, especially if you're standing in his way. Not to mention the bags under his eyes were dark enough to be charcoal smears. Obviously your missing factor is sleep deprivation." The older Gleeful calmly pointed out. "It disappoints me that you'd miss something so obvious when you're supposed to be the one who's obsessed with him."

"You can't tell me someone _that _powerful _naturally_ doesn't deserve some admiration. We're aided by amulets, all he has to do is focus and he could have the _world _at his feet, not a mere town."

"And you believe that _you _could get him to do just that - not for his own reasons, but because _you _asked? He's never shown much interest in anything but being left alone," Mabel sceptically raised a slender eyebrow. Honestly, her brother's ideas were starting to sound a little far-fetched, even to her. His plans were always brilliant, and worked out how they were eventually supposed to even if the in-between took unexpected turns. Honestly, when they first heard of Norman the first thing that came to both of them was that with that kind of power on their side coupled with they're already unrivalled skill and power, they'd be damn near unstoppable. Of course they weren't stupid. There's always a weakness and there's always unpredictability's. They weren't going for world domination. They just wanted to be untouchable.

But, as stated earlier, there are unpredictability's. In this case, Dipper's obsession with the medium. This could get...unpredictable. Never the less, Mabel would look after her younger brother and make sure he didn't go overboard. That's just what siblings did for each other.

Dipper gave her a confident smile, "Of course. Eventually."

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><p><span><em><strong>Author's note: <strong>_I'd like to use the space here to rant – whoops! Give some more info on the story. But as I usually jump from subject to subject and lose track of everything and end up making fuck all since, I will divide this into sections (BTW, you may skip this whole thing if you want).

1.) The previous piece I'd like you to view as some sort of prologue. As it is incomplete and I didn't know where to continue in that scene, I made a time-lapse that follows on it so I don't have to end up having mental breaks because I fried my brain trying to pull something worthwhile out of my ass. If you are to keep reading this, you'll just have to learn to live with that, or I will board my imaginary flying pirate ship and make it rain sour milk over your house. You have been warned.

2.) _**FUCK THIS TOOK ME **__**FOREVER.**_

3.) I hope you're all happy. I wrestled my brain for this and got a bunch of headaches to show for it. I don't care if it sucks, deal with it. Ya'll wanted me to continue this. Not to mention I actually put _work _into planning a few chapters ahead. _A lot _of work. Freaking basic outlines and chapter outlines. And research.

4.) Everything written in the first person is thought.

5.) _**HEAD**__**.**__**ACHES**__**.**_

That is all. Until next we meet,

-Lizzamil/Insomniac


	3. Chapter 2

_**Eyes of the Devil**_  
><span><em><strong>Chapter 2<strong>_

_Warnings: Language and violence_

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><p>Let's get to describing this, shall we? When Norman stepped out of that warded house it was like...like...well, probably similar to how it would feel if you flew out of the NASA g-force simulator at high speed and landed perpendicularly to the ground on your feet.<p>

Yeah, okay, so it was just a bad head-rush, but still. _**Bad. Head-rush.**_ You'd think he'd be used to the usually constant background noise by now.

And with that, Norman and Dipper started walking down the side-walk. Dipper constantly trying to subtly lessen the space between them, and Norman trying not to drop-kick the shorter mother fucker to the moon. Did he know nothing about boundaries? Jesus. Oh wait, you expected Norman to go all poltergeist on him then haul ass to some far-out corner of the earth? No. There were wards to stop that, too, which Dipshit had apparently been smart enough to implement.

_**'Which just proves the pervert was the one who saw me naked.'**_

People tended to greet Dipper from all sides, seeing as he was some sort of local celebrity. Needless to say, Norman was at the business end of plenty hateful glares from all Dipper's gushing fans. Nothing he wasn't actually used to. But of course if you're the one usually getting unpleasant looks, you tend to notice when one isn't directed at yourself, but at the person (forcefully) accompanying you.

The boy was a little younger than Norman (and by default Dipper). Messy white hair, hidden under a pine-tree hat. A little on the short and tubby side wearing shorts and an orange t-shirt under a dark blue vest. What is it with people in Weightless Heights and the color blue?

His expression was that of accusing someone of intentionally running over they're dearly beloved puppy several times, then deep fired it and fed it to them. Which Dipper very well may have, who knows. Norman didn't care, he just wanted to get the away from the town, and get the hell away from this fucking psycho that was way too smart to be safe for anyone's well-being.

Back into the woods where there were less ghosts and even less people. Learning to survive n there had been hell, but it was ultimately more peaceful. Especially if you don't have a final destination in mind, just away. But of course that leaves him more open and vulnerable. In hind-sight, he should have probably predicted this situation or one similar to it to occur in the long-run.

Which is complete and utter bullshit, by the way. Dipper was fucking dead as soon as the opportunity would rear its ugly head around the corner, fucking bet on it. Bitch should have thought twice before getting murderously obsessed with someone, I tell you.

Y'know, this is getting boring. Let's skip to something more exciting.

For example, two days later. Dipper kept finding ways to keep Norman around. Shallow, obvious and awkward mind-games to keep him too busy trying to decipher the stupidity to even start thinking of ways to get the hell out of there. Which was probably clever in its own way, though Dipper seemed to think he was the absolute master at making up excuses at the last minute.

"You can't go outside, Mable's pet pig, Waddles, is out. He'll tear you to shreds." Granted that seemed pretty true. Good god, who even thought it was a good idea to own some sort of demon-pig?

"It's the full moon, we have werewolves." It was only a crescent moon.

"Oh no, you can't leave here. There's this thing out there called the hide-behind. Extremely dangerous. Yup. You'd better stick to where I can protect you. Yes, I know it doesn't sound dangerous. How is it dangerous? U-uh...i-it just is! I've lived here longer, I know this place better, and you should listen to me. Y-you're taking your chances...? Well, you can't. Because...ghosts can't annoy you here?"

No matter what, Norman just couldn't think of a way to call bullshit that wouldn't cause Dipper to panic and do something rash or piss Dipper off and end up accidentally dead. He was really only still there because he couldn't figure out how Dipshit was blocking his power outside the house. One of the only reasons he survived was because of them. And, of course, advice from boy-scout ghosts.

So after completely frying his brain, Norman decided to just ask Dipper how he was doing it. And he did. His reply? Well, an actual explanation, surprisingly. He gave a wide, excited smile and gloated.

"I'm so glad you asked! It's seriously cool! Like, completely blow-your-mind cool! In fact, you should be impressed. How many people can truthfully claim that they-"

"Get. To. The. Point."

Dipper's smile faltered "...Right. Pure will power. I've been suppressing your powers by sheer will alone. Nothing else. Don't you think that's impressive? Isn't that just the coolest thing ev-"

"How."

Dipper wasn't smiling anymore. Now he just looked suspicious. His glare was accusatory. "I just told you Norman."

"People don't just _suppress _someone's abilities just like that," Norman snapped his fingers "If that's true there must be something enhancing –" Norman looked down. _**'**__**Bolo tie**__**.'**_It was his fucking bolo tie. Dipper noticed his stare. Never in his life had Norman seen _anyone_ smile like that. It was a three-part recipe of admiration, pride and twisted desire. It made him want to throw up.

"_That's _why I like you so much. Naturally powerful _and _intelligent. Is it really so crazy that I want to keep you for myself?" That said, he turned and went to do a show with his sister. Norman just stood there, marinating in his own seething rage. _**'Pure will, huh?' **_If it were so, wouldn't the logic be that the farther away from Dipper Norman gets, the more likely his powers will just pop back out of oblivion? Well then. Where would the world be if theories were never tested? Since Dipper was _oh so _busy entertaining a tent full of mouth-breathing background characters…

**-Eyes Of The Devil-**

"_**Still nothing. Goddamnit"**_

Norman gave a frustrated growl as he kept on walking. Granted, he should probably be more patient considering he'd barely made any headway at all from the 'Telepathy Tent' – as it was apparently called. He was starting to come near the shack on the road across from it, so he moved more into the woods.

"_Hey, you!"_Someone called at him.

'_**Please, god, don't let it be a ghost' **_Norman prayed, only to have his prayers answered. It was the boy from before, the one who shot Dipper the _'you murdered my happiness' _glare. He had a southern (_**AN:**_ _Is_ it called southern? I'm not from America, in case you haven't guessed that, yet) accent, apparently. Well, anyone who's an enemy of Dipper's isn't one of Normans. "What do you want, kid?" Doesn't mean he wasn't going to be hostile.

But, _nooo_, the boy was completely unfazed. Walking up to Norman with grim determination written all over his face. "_You! _You're with Gleeful! What has he done with Pacifica?!" He yelled, his voice was annoying. Even when you're well rested.

But apparently, Norman didn't give him the answer he was looking for. With a raised eyebrow, none the less.

"…Who?"

The little pudgy boy then proceeded to tackle Norman to the ground (of all the times to be a walking stick figure!), straddled his stomach (what a short boy) and immediately began to frantically and violently shake him by the front of his favorite red hoodie.

"Where is she?! _Where is she?! _I _know _the Gleeful's took her! What have they done to her?!"

"_Who the fuck is Pacifica?"_ Norman asked, very annoyed at the constant shaking. Thankfully it stopped, and Norman was able grab the boy's right wrist, twist his hips and kick up with his right leg, effectively throwing the boy off him and standing up.

"Pacifica Northwest! She's my friend! The Gleeful's took her, I know it! And I know that you know something! You're Dipper's pet after all, ain't you?" At the last comment, Norman placed a foot on the boy's clavicle. Thank god he was still on the ground.

"Listen to me. I am in _no way _Dipshit's _pet_. In fact, I'm not _associated_ with him at all. So I know _fuck all_ about your friend or what happened to her. But if the twins took her, she's probably dead." He said, putting some weight on his foot.

"But –but she _can't _be!"

"Living in denial never did anyone any good, kid." And with that, the kid deflated. Like he just had the energy to muster up that rage, and now it was gone. "Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta get the hell out of here –"

"My name's not kid. It's Gideon."

Norman gave an exasperated sigh and started moving further into the forest "Whatever."

…Of course the kid was going to follow him. Why, in the loving name of Mother Christ, did Norman expect him to just go away?

"Where are ya headed?"

"Nowhere."

"Why are ya leavin'?"

"Because."

"Where's Pacifica?"

"Oh for fuck's sake –She's dead! I think I overheard Dipshit say Mabel killed her! That's it! Now _for the love of god and all his sacred creations_, leave. Me. The fuck. Alone."

"You don't like Dipper much, do ya?" Norman just gave a long groan and continued walking "Don't worry, you're in good company. I don't care much for him m'self, either. Hey, since we have a common enemy, you know what I'm thinkin'? We should team up! Get rid of 'em together!"

"Go piss a hole through a brick wall." Norman retorted.

"But that's impossible. Unless ya pee acid. In which case I'd feel very sorry for ya."

"That's the point. It'll keep you busy so you'll leave me alone."

"Well that's mighty rude of ya. Anyway, about the whole 'tag-team' thing –"

"I have no interest in whatever vendetta you have with the Gleeful's. I just want to leave."

"Just hear me ou– " Gideon didn't get to finish his sentence before he was knocked down flat on his face. And Norman would have performed a jovial dance to any and all higher deities in all faiths and religions for hearing the prayers he never sent and shutting Gideon up. However, it was not a being of faith, but Dipper that knocked him down.

"You think you're so damn smart, don't you? Slipping away while I'm busy? I'll have you know that it wouldn't matter where you went, it wouldn't work! You'd still be powerless, and I'd _still _be able to find you!" Dipper snarled.

That, dear readers, is when shit hit the fan. And unfortunately, it was switched on.

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><p><span><em><strong>Author's note:<strong>_ Man, my chapters are _short._ Blame inspiration. My muse _hates _me. Whatever. It's like, 03:00 am and I am severely deprived of sleep. Enjoy! (P.S. I treat responses like precious items just sayin'.)


	4. Chapter 3

_**Eyes of the Devil  
>Chapter 3<span>**_

_Warnings: Language, Violence._

* * *

><p>There goes that familiar pressure. Norman had felt it the last time him and Dipper went at it. It felt like being slammed into by a 10kg weight in your chest, yet still as if the wind were gently propelling him backward, as if he were a feather in the breeze of a lung-full of breath. They were still in the shack's yard, so he didn't hit a tree this time. Nope. He skid over the ground with a winded '-oof!' instead. There goes the upper-back of is favorite red hoodie. It's seen the last of its days. Along with his his shirt and the first layer of his skin, but y'know. Shit happens.<p>

_**'Okay. That amulet has **_**got**_** to go,'**_ Norman decided.

Norman started getting up just as soon as Dipper neared him and gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "Not a fair fight."

"There's no such thing as a fair fight. Just people who come out alive. All's fair in love and war, and all that," Dipper retorted, casually waving his hand around. His eyes were as dead and glazed over as his sisters'. Funny. Norman suddenly missed that false warmth that Dipper was so skilled at implementing.

"Oh? Are we having a war? 'Cause honestly I'm not feeling the love, dude. Not that I was digging the whole _'hi-I'm-your-crazy-stalker-and-I'm-delirious_-_enough-to-believe-I-can-make-you-love-me-back' _thing we had going on, anyway."

And Norman was on the ground again. For the third time that night. Being straddled. And choked. Yay. Ain't life just _grand_?

"I was being patient with you, you know? I didn't threaten you. I didn't tie you up or keep you caged in the house. There was no catch to the deal. You didn't even _have to _love me back. I treated you like a guest! I treated you like an _equal! _Which is more than any of these _sheep _can say. You couldn't even _try _to give the arrangement a chance? To give _me _a chance? You ungrateful little _freak._"

Pulling the same move he did with Gideon, Norman flipped them over and slammed Dipper's head into the ground _hard. _"I think the pot's calling the kettle black now, don't you think?" Then Dipper flipped them over.

**_'Are they seriously going to roll around in the dirt and blab it out?' _**Mabel thought to herself, boredly inspecting her nails as she listened to shuffles, grunts and angry shouting coming from the two boys. **_'They're seriously going to roll around in the dirt and blab it out.' _**She sighed. Norman was frantically making 'grabby-hand' gestures to the amulet-incrusted bolo-tie around Dipper's neck, and Dipper was sitting in his waist, pushing Norman's face into the ground with his hand and frantically trying to stay out of range. Mabel was getting bored and impatient.

Therefore, as all people do when faced with the bane of existence that is boredom, she knocked her brother out. With a rock to the back of his head. Yay solutions!

Norman, with Dipper half laying on him, pushed himself to his elbows and looked up at Mabel with confusion and an eye twitch. "Uhh..." he so intelligently commented.

"He'll be fine. He's had worse playing as a child. He was in a coma for two weeks once, as I recall. Maybe longer. I'll have to check with him when he wakes up," Mabel replied, as if Norman had actually said or asked anything of any relevant importance.

Norman was still starring up at her from the ground, obviously fearing for his life as he was looking at her like she just transformed into the devil him/her/itself right in front of him. Actually, he might look a little less scared if that happened. Kudos for trying to put up a brave face, though.

"Well don't look at me like that, I'm helping you, silly!" Mabel sweetly smiled at him. And still, waves of uncertainty were rolling off of Norman in the form of a nervous aura. Sickly and muddy green. Everything about Norman's aura was always some obscure and muddled shade of green, no matter what it was trying to say about him. Must be the whole poltergeist thing mixing in with it. It made it so confusing to read. Mabel actually had to pay attention to do so.

"Why would _you_ help _me_?" Norman spat, disbelievingly.

"Why, out of all the goodness in of the bottom of my heart of course, Normy! Dipper can be a little crazy sometimes," making a crazy gesture next to her head, she awkwardly smiled, chuckled and glanced to the side. When Norman remained the same, she dropped the act. "Well I can see what Dipper finds so appealing. That usually fools basically everyone."

"I've seen enough people behind masks."

"And you've seen enough people with out them. Goody for you. Now get up and get going." Nope. Still nothing._ "ugh_, you're gonna make me _explain_ myself, too? Okay, fine. If he ends up killing you based on a rash decision, he will end up either killing himself, or go catatonic. Do you have any idea what kind of stint that would put on any and everything I have planned? No? Well that's because you don't know about any of my plans, now do you? If you're out there, alive, he'll still be driven, if only to find you again (which he probably will, the little obsessive ol' thing). Now that, that's what I need him to be. Not some pathetic, sappy mess of my flesh and blood. He'd be too boring to play with then. Not to mention we don't need that kind of image. Now hit the road, nimrod. He won't stay out cold forever."

No further words or glances were exchanged as Norman got up and made his way over to the line of trees to disappear into the night, subconsciously noting Gideon still on the ground, spread eagled and still out like a light.

**-Eyes Of The Devil-**

When Dipper woke up, the first thing he remembers feeling is a boiling in every single one of his blood vessels. Then a plummet of his heart and lungs to create a desperate cavity of air in his chest as anxiety and panic settled in. That light as air feeling settling in as he continued to frantically search the entire house, and then giving way as melted lead started to run down his throat and settled above his diaphragm, filling him with dread instead.

Norman was gone. He'd let Norman get away. He didn't try hard enough to keep him, and now life seemed somewhat pointless. He felt so disappointed. In himself, in his abilities, in the cruel personality that life seemed to posses. He felt like laying down and going back to sleep instead, because if he couldn't do something as simple as convince someone who had nowhere else to really go to stay here where the only thing he'd really have to worry about was someone being a little obsessed with him, then what was he good for? How much worth was he to the world, to himself, to his sister-

His sister. Mabel. She knocked him out. She was there...

_**'This is her fault!'**_ Dipper realized with a start. She let him go. She did this!

As Dipper stood there, heavily breathing over the dining room table, the girl herself appeared in the doorway. Speak of the devil, and (s)he shall appear as they say (and who the hell is 'they' anyway? They always seem to think they know everything, don't they? I bet they were those uber-smart kids who knew all these useless little facts about everything and sat in the front of the class to rub it in all the other kids' faces, correcting every little inaccuracy that doesn't even matter. Pfft. Dickbrains. You're what's wrong with the world. Be a little nicer to your classmates for fuck's sake. You don't know where they'll end up. Jesus.)

"I take it you're done tearing the house apart?" She calmly stated, inspecting her nails. Clearly she wasn't expecting it when her brother tackled her to the ground and wrapped his hands around her throat. But she reacted without flaw anyway, throwing his stability by pulling his forearms down, shifting her hips and kicking his one leg out from underneath him, then rolling so she was on top of him (_**AN:**_ wow, I sure do like making people straddle each other, _er hur dur_.) then getting off to sit on one of the chairs instead, crossing her legs. "If you're done murdering me, then."

"Why? Why Mabel? What did I ever do to you? Y'know, excluding that one time I did that one thing."

"What about the other time when you did that other thing?"

"That too."

"And another time - "

"Okay, okay! I've done a lot of things, we've established that already!" Dipper declared, arms flailing. "Why would you let him get away?" He sounded a little smaller, very hurt, but still trying to keep up a brave front. He looked younger than he was, sitting on the floor, legs pulled in, arms thrown over knees, looking up at her through his lashes like she took away his favorite toy (which, admittedly, is exactly what she did). It reminded Mabel from when they were twelve, when Dipper was much less sure of himself and much more insecure and uncertain. He'd started growing out of it around that age.

Mabel just coldly brushed it off, and replied "You were going to kill him at the rate you were going. What good would that have done anyone?"

Dipper's only response was to look at the floor, ashamed. Oh perfect. _Now_ he decides to grow a guilty conscious. "This way, there's a chance he might realize he's better off here and come back. Or, at the least, you can go back to obsessively watching him and hunting him down. Either way, something will get done," she continued, then walked off for whatever business she might have had elsewhere. Dipper continued to sit there, curled up in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. Letting the gears in his mind clink back into place, and whirr back to they're faster, more usual pace. He sat there until he didn't feel so depressed anymore, then he set to work.

**-Eyes Of The Devil-**

If it weren't for the slight pink-ish tint to his skin, you wouldn't have been able to tell it apart from Gideon Pines' hair. How could you spend so much time in the sun and still be so pale? It didn't make any sense! Nothing about him did. He acted on his emotions - which he expressed freely at all times mind you - defied all logical decisions and fought with forces mightier than himself, and put himself in constant danger even tough he knew there would very likely not be a reward for his efforts.

He allied himself with a useless girl who valued color and vibrancy over any sort of usability.

He _helps_ people.

_**NO. SENSE. WHY?**_

Then again, neither did Mabel taking him home and tucking him into bed instead of leaving him on the ground. She didn't linger but still. Mabel didn't do considerate. That's why she killed Pacifica. That's why someday she'll kill Gideon. She refused to be softened. Nu-uh. Not happening. (_**AN:**_ Uh-uh, oh no! Bippity bop, kazow! I can't be pressured, no way, no how! ...yeah I have no idea why. That just happened without my consent.) None of this conflict was showing on her face, though, as she calmly sat on the back porch and drank her tea. And with her pride and willpower, it never would.

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>Author's<strong>** note:**_Don't kill me, but this has been done for a few weeks, now. Just, y'know, exams and work 'n' shit. Although I _did_ get fired today, so... that's a little shitty. Whatevs. _Anyway, _the next bit is nearly done, so... yeah. I'll have it up next week. You are free to commit arson to my personal collection of books if I don't keep my word. I'm _that _close to finishing it.

Until next we meet.

-Lizzimal/Insomniac


	5. Chapter 4

_**Eyes of the Devil**_  
><em><strong><span>Chapter 4<span>  
><strong>__Warnings: Language, Fire (in case that's a thing that needs to be warned about), Death (if that wasn't already expected), Minor Violence  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>"So with every new lesson learned,<strong>_  
><em><strong> I could keep you before it turns,<strong>_  
><em><strong> And the knowledge that things won't be the same<strong>_  
><em><strong> Now I realize that you have won,<strong>_  
><em><strong> And there's nothing to be said or done,<strong>_  
><em><strong> And I notice the wind won't blow my way<strong>_

_** So run with the eyes of a devil,**_  
><em><strong> And keep them in your dreams<strong>_  
><em><strong> If you succumb to the lies of the rebel,<strong>_  
><em><strong> You'll cleanse yourself of me"<strong>_

_** Eyes of the devil - Seether**_

* * *

><p>If he pulled on his hair any harder, he'd get bald spots. He'd have bald spots, and then what? He'd hit his head against something and muse about how easily he could have avoided that particular situation if he'd unclenched his shaking fists from his gravity-defying hair, and then probably give himself more bald spots. And where would that leave him? Bald. Bald, that's where. And he would never be able to hitchhike again because the sun would be reflecting off his shiny, shiny head and the drivers would be too busy trying not to crash because he would have blinded them and he's have to spend the rest of his life walking to places.<p>

Jesus Christ, Norman, think ahead a bit for once.

But, oh, the screaming, _the screaming,__** the fucking screaming!**_  
>It never stops! It never fucking stops! He'd traveled to the other side of the fucking <em>country<em> and it was _still_ just as loud!

Grating and shrill shrieks, fear, betrayal, _agony_ and _horror_. A deafening orchestra from hell that would have Satan him/her/itself shedding a tear in awe as he/she/it gives a slow clap of appreciation, for it was surely only a masterpiece that could sound so tortured. Hell, it'd give gothic poetry a run for it's money. A morbid work of art.

Too bad the artist couldn't quite appreciate it that much, never mind handle it or the fact that it was caused by his own doings, and possibly intentional doings at that. Two days since Norman left gravity falls, half a day since the screaming started getting louder after the wards wore off, and he was already in fetal position, his back against a tree, hands digging broken and chewed fingernails into his scalp, lungs never quite satisfied with the amount of oxygen they were given, even at full capacity.

Eyes squinting in tears that would never have left the water line of his eyelids anyway, because he'd sobbed away the last of his guilt like sand storms would smooth out and wither down stone a long time ago. Now the tears were only there because of how bad the constant headaches tended to be.

A low string of "shut up, shut up, shut up, please just shut the fuck up" could be heard uttering under quick but deep breaths.

But that rises the question, how do you quiet a town full of restless ghosts who think they're still being burned to death?

**-Eyes of the Devil-**

Norman opened the back door to the burning town hall, and he kept walking. The zombies that used to form the town council were following him, he didn't care. Judge Hopkins was talking to him, trying to convince him that he should reason with Agatha, try to put her restless soul at peace and end this dreadful curse. He didn't care. He was saying something about how putting a halt to Agatha's wrath would prove to the townsfolk that he wasn't dangerous or deranged, that he was merely a little different and that they would learn to accept him. He didn't care. He didn't want their acceptance, hadn't for quite a while. They didn't listen! Even when they knew he was right, that he wasn't crazy, when the proof was _right in front of them_ they didn't listen! They just brushed him off, like they always have, even when they knew he knew better than they did. He_ tried_. This was _their_ fault now. He did his part. Agatha could have her revenge. He'll just be sure to get out of range.

"She won't stop with just us! She'll destroy the entire town! You were born and raised here, were you not? Does that mean _nothing_ to you, boy?"

Norman froze in his tracks. He just stood there for a second, then turned on his heel, and sent a hateful glare at the long dead judge.

_**'You'll all be sorry!'**_

"She warned you. She was just a little girl, and you executed her. For what? Talking to herself?" Norman scoffed in disgust "You're getting what you deserve," he stated and walked the other way again.

"But the town -!"

"Can burn with you, straight down to hell!" He was starting to get itchy. He could feel the bubbles popping as his blood was set to a boil. He could feel... Something, zipping up and down his arms and shoulders, just underneath his skin. The tips of his fingers felt static-y.

"They did nothing to deserve this!" Judge Hopkins was desperately screaming at him.

_**"Shut up!"**_

He could hear the mob moving towards them, having figured out the council wasn't in the town hall. Norman's yelling probably pulled them to investigate, too. Fucking fantastic. Soon he was at the business end of dozens of seething expressions.

"He's working with them!" Someone exclaimed "the freak's helping them! Get 'im!"

Norman's hair was standing on end by now. They _still_ weren't listening! They still thought he was a freak!

Scared, angry, and very hurt, Norman had no idea what to make of the yellow-ish green flashes that crackled off his body in every which direction. At first he thought it came from the sky. But he knew that wasn't the case when he looked back at the now cowering mob. Buildings were set ablaze at every outburst of emotion that ran through Norman's heart and shot out in the form of electrical charges. Agatha had joined in at this point, setting her own fires, forcing the situation drastically out of control with no opposition. People were screaming, screams of fear, shock and the blazes that were starting to lick at their clothing, turning them into living candles. The council were unrecognizable balls of fire running in every direction. It was _**chaos**_.

And then he heard his mother, calling his name.

"Norman!"

She was scared, too. But she was worried for he son's well being, and that made her brave. It's a mother's instinct to protect, after all. He didn't think about her when he'd decided to abandon ship. To let Agatha have her way with the town. He didn't remember that she'd be burning, too.

"Norman!" She was running to him now, having spotted him amongst the sea of orange, yellow and green flickers that were the towns inhabitants. Dodging as they would unknowingly run in her direction, screaming for help, screaming that they were sorry.

Begging Norman for his mercy.

"Mom, no!" He frantically waved 'no!' to try and warn her of the telephone pole that was about to fall over across the street. She didn't notice. Things didn't slow down like they would in the movies, they sped up instead and he ended up watching in frozen horror as she narrowly dodged the flaming pillar, only for the sparks that it spit everywhere to cause her shirt sleeve to go ablaze, his father and sister screaming and running towards her as they tried to put her out and ultimately set fire to themselves as well. There were so many people screaming for so many different but similar reasons.

He didn't want this! He_ couldn't_ have wanted this! ...Could he? This was _**wrong!**_

He couldn't take it anymore. He turned to the relatively safe portion of the street he was on, and he **_ran._**

He remembered running and ending up on Mr. Penderghast's porch, back flat against the wall, eyes unfocused, lungs burning with exertion and smoke. He couldn't breathe. There was no time to inhale in between his wails as his sobs and the sudden drop in temperature from inferno to autumn night shook him, rattling every bone in his body as the weight of everything that happened whisped in like poisonous gas and settled, solidifying in his marrow. He felt so heavy. After exhausting himself up unto the point that everything switched to auto pilot, he passed out.

**-Eyes of the Devil-**

He woke up and it was still dark. The stars were brighter, without the town lights or the fire to conceal them. He could still hear screaming. So it was a miracle that he heard the quiet sniffles that he did. He'd thought they were his own for a second, until he picked up that they were coming from somewhere in the woods. A survivor, perhaps? He didn't waste time on thinking, his brain could catch up whenever it decided to so. He followed the soft sounds to a wall of twisted or uprooted trees and stalagmites. He got splinters and scuffs trying to get through them. He was surprised to find that it was Agatha, hugging her knees to her chest with her head in her arms. He was hesitant to approach. She should have been satisfied. She should have moved on, there was nothing to be angry at anymore! She got what she wanted! And so did Norman. But he got more than he bargained for. And maybe she did, too.

Mind set, he went and sat down next to her, laying back to have the large oak tree in the center of this clearing support him.

"I didn't mean to," Agatha whispered once Norman settled down, still not looking up.

"Neither did I," he assured, too lifeless to be concerned that it was only a half-truth.

"They just wouldn't listen! I warned them! I was just playing! They wouldn't believe me!"

"...I know."

"I was just so angry! They hurt me! I wanted them to hurt, too! ...But I didn't want to kill anyone..." She cried some more, and Norman wanted to comfort her, but he didn't even know how to comfort himself. "Can you hear them, too?"

"...Yeah," he answered her. He didn't even know which direction the screaming was coming from, at this point he thought they were following him, but he could only see Agatha next to him.

"It's gonna follow you, you know. That's what happens when people like us are haunted. They don't have to follow you. That's why most of us go crazy."

"I'll get used to it."

"Don't you care? You _helped_ me! You did this, too!"

Norman thought for a moment before answering, "Yeah, I care. I _do_ feel guilty. But that won't fix anything. Being sorry isn't going to fix anything, not something like this. I'll probably hate myself for the rest of my life. But none of that matters. It's done. It can't be undone. So I might as well start getting over myself."

She just looked at him for a while as he was starring off into space. Wading through her own thoughts and trying to process his. He was right. What was done was done.

"...What about you? Where will you go now? You're alone..."

The small twitch of lips he gave was sardonic "I was alone in a town full of people. I'll be fine by myself."

Agatha nodded, and leaned herself into the tree, "I'm tired."

"Then go to sleep."

Norman watched her fade out as the sun enthusiastically took the sky, oblivious to the nightmare the moon witnessed before it.

**-Eyes of the Devil-**

Norman dragged his feet through the suburbs of Blithe Hollow. The ghosts were avoiding him, it looked like. The streets were completely deserted. Weren't they supposed to be even more crowded than usual? There should have been more ghosts. No-one could have survived any of that!

Nothing was spared.

There was burnt rubble everywhere, up until the woods that bordered the town. Phenderghast's was probably the only house left standing.

What was he even looking for, walking through these streets? There was _nothing _here for him. He should be walking to the next town over or something, shouldn't he? _Why was he still here?_ Was it the apathy? Did he just not care that he was now in the middle of nowhere, _alone?_

...Did he even want to be around people anyway? They drove him to destroy and entire town, didn't they? What use did he have for people if they only drove him to the point of near insanity? To the point of destructiveness at this scale? Hasn't he always been better off by himself? This wasn't him. He didn't destroy this place. He was Norman Babcock, and eleven-year-old who could see the dead. He wasn't capable of any of this.

He wasn't _supposed_ to be.

Aimless wandering done, he turned down on his own street, hoping maybe his grandmother was still home. She _couldn't_ have been gone. She promised to always look after Norman. And true to her word, she was still there.

"Grandma!"

"Normy! What happened?"

"I did something bad, Grandma, bu-but I didn't m-mean to! It just -it just happened! I-it was an accident!" He was choking on air at this point, he _had_ to explain to her, make her _understand_. That was someone else trying to walk out on Blithe Hollow when it needed him, it wasn't Norman! He didn't accidentally set his mother, father and sister on fire! Someone must have possessed him!

"Norman, calm down! Just tell me what happened."

"I got angry, a-and Aggie got angry, and I just -I didn't know the place would set on fire! A-and mom -oh _God_, mom! I tried to warn her about the telephone pole, I did! And then _dad_, a-and _Courtney!_ I didn't mean for this to happen..." He was crying again, he knew because his grandmother was trying - and failing - to wipe the tears off his cheeks. And that's how the search and rescue team found him when someone when they arrived. Sobbing his heart out.

Norman learned rather quickly that most foster homes weren't very fond of traumatized/possibly psychologically damaged children (which he totally wasn't, the other kids were lying!). The general insomnia and 'talking to himself' didn't help his case much. He didn't stay at one place for too long. Which is why, at the age of thirteen or so, he decided to just do his own thing and wander. A difficult adjustment at first, but he adjusted never the less. There were lots of ghosts on the streets to give him advice. Some people - parents especially - were a lot more sympathetic to kids on the road. Perverts were usually easy to spot. And he learned how to hold his own in a fist fight, so there's that. Some stores would pay kids for odd jobs. He did alright. For unknown reasons (i.e. an author that couldn't come up with a feasible reason but felt like they should put this in because that's where the muse dragged them as evidenced by Norma's lack of appearance up until this point I sort of forgot she existed and only remembered now sorry be sure to fill in this plot-hole with theories I'd love to hear them if you got 'em) Norman stopped seeing his grandmother at fourteen. This was, of course, devastating. She was with him all the way, and now she was gone. It got progressively lonelier from there...

He'd help a lot of ghosts along the way. It was a way to pass the time. Until what, though, Norman didn't know. Even if it didn't alleviate the apathy. He never felt anything anymore. Just boredom. And annoyance because the screaming was still there, it always was. Norman was always a bit puzzled about how he was able to carry conversations, never mind hear anything with the constant background noise, but he figured he'd just gotten used to it, so it was like it wasn't even there.

He always avoided thinking too much about anything to do with Blithe Hollow and anything he felt, didn't feel, and did not want to think he felt that night, anyway. He didn't need anymore static in his head than he already had. He didn't want the sympathy he was given, or the temporary accommodation and provisions he was offered, even if he did need it. He didn't want _anyone's _attention at all. He just wanted to be left the hell alone, so he wouldn't have to answer anymore of those questions anymore. He was seriously considering putting up a FAQ chart somewhere.

Was that really an impossible request?

**-Eyes of the Devil-**

_**'I **_**didn't**_** just enjoy that. I **_**didn't**_**. I'm **_**not**_** a freak. It was just adrenaline.'**_ A freshly-ish fifteen-year-old Norman rationalised. His breath was coming in heavy and shaky pants. Everything was shaky. His hands, his knees, his awareness of what just happened. His hands were still crackling. This was the first time since Blithe Hollow these... powers decided to make themselves known. There have been so many other, more appropriate situations where this could have happened, why now? Why take four years?

_**'No, no, no, no. I **_**will not**_** turn into Aggie. I'm not capable of that.'**_ He tried to convince himself. And yet, the proof is in the pudding, m'doll. Right in front of him. There was still smoke whisping off the guy's body, for fuck's sake!

The guy just wanted his back-pack, Norman was the one who started taunting him, knowing he'd end up getting attacked. So why'd he do it...? He wrestled with the guy for a few minutes before he got socked in the jaw, and then he'd_ lost_ it. Then sparks flew, and something started to smell like it was_ burning_. Norman expected to beat the guy until he was_ unconscious_, like the few other fights he had to get into on the streets, not that he'd _fry_ the guy and give him _heart failure!_ What the fuck?!

And now the guy's ghost was starring at him, all shocked and confused and -oh God, he killed a man! And he was right there! _Gawking_ back at him like a fish! And now he was launching into accusatory ranting and panicking and -c'mon! The guy had _kids?_ Mother Christ, this was bad. This was really, _really_ bad.

"I-I didn't know that was going to happen! _You_ attacked _me_!"

"You knew I would! You got snippy with me because you _knew_ I would! What, did you _plan_ to murder me when I tried to rob you?"

"_**No!**_ why the _hell_ would I do that?!"

"You _wanted_ me to attack you so you could shock me! I could see it in your eyes!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Norman was starting to really panic now. His voice was getting higher and higher with every sentence and more and more frantic. Maybe there was Helium in the air?

"Ever heard of the expression _'there's a devil in your eyes'_?"

"No! Of course not! I've never heard of that expression and I don't know what it means! I don't know what the _fuck_ you're talking about, I didn't plan this! _All_ teenagers are snippy, asshole, that doesn't make me a _psycho!_ Shit's _not_ okay, man! What the fuck am I gonna do?"

"What the fuck are _you_ gonna do? What the fuck am _I_ gonna do? I'm dead, in case ya haven't noticed!" And then, suddenly, it looked like the guy realised something. Like he'd just found out something life-changing, like the mystery of the universe or the solution to implementing world peace. Or something even more important, like what the deal is with cats. Seriously. How are they so intelligent and so stupid at the same time? How do they pull that off? If he weren't already a ghost, Norman suspected the guy would have gone pale from the face he was pulling now. "You can see me! I'm dead and you can see me! You're a _freak of nature!_"

"I'm a fucking _**medium**_. Get your terminology right!" Norman spat back. Fuck remorse. This guy was being a total cunt.

"To hell with your terminology, you killed me!"

"Yeah, I did. You know how difficult life would get for me if you stole my back-pack? I'd fucking starve! Or freeze to death at night! Do you just play eni-miny-minie-mo when you decide on someone to rob? What, there weren't any frail old ladies lugging respirators around? Fuck this!" With that final note, Norman walked off. The guy followed him to the edge of the city, but couldn't go past that. He probably had unfinished business with those kids of his.

He never thought about what he did again. He didn't care enough.

That expression stuck, though.

**There's a devil in your eyes.**

_**'What does that even mean?'**_

Things got progressively more volatile from there. Electrical devices would short circuit whenever Norman got antsy. Thank God he didn't carry a phone. If he got angry... well, let's not dwindle on needless explanations.

Needless to say, Norman tended to avoid densely (or slightly) populated areas whenever possible. Although, that did lead to more and more dangerous altercations. Hey man, no plan is perfect. At least the people who died deserved it.

**-Eyes of the Devil-**

His breathing started to even out again. His fingers were unclenching from his scalp, a little sticky with blood around the nails. The roots of his hair hurt. So did his teeth. He must have been grinding them. Oh, God, his hands were cramping.

Norman decided to stop being an armadillo and uncurled himself from where he was on the ground. A strong inhale of cool and crisp night air. The moon being out and bathing everything in pale, silvery outlines indicating he'd been there for a while. A sharp burn on Norman's back accompanied by a sharp exhale through his teeth as he leaned against a tree where his skin was still a little raw from being flung across the gravel in that shack's parking lot, the rough bark still scratching his skin even through the new shirt and hoodie. And after two days of just having getting away on his mind, Norman let himself process his situation so he could plan ahead.

Mabel had let him escape. She'd _helped _him. Norman was sure he's feel more grateful if he weren't so suspicious. No-one ever helped anyone unless they got something out if it, even if it was just self-gratification. That was a fact of life. She said it would keep her brother motivated if he were out there, that's why she did it. That couldn't be the only reason, though. Right? Mabel didn't seem like the type to be that selfless. But he suspected he'd have more time to dwell on that later.

_**'Whelp. Where to go now...?'**_

Oh shit. Nowhere. He had nowhere he needed to be. And nowhere he really wanted to be, either. You know, besides away and out of sight. So he made sure to dissapear into the thicket.

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>Author's note:<span>**_ Told ya it'd be up soon. This is the longest chapter thus far. Over 4,000 words. Yep. I feel accomplished.

I honestly had no idea what I was doing with this chapter, if you couldn't tell. I feel like I'm hitting a bit of a lag, here, so just bare with me through the bits that inevitably won't be quite so exciting until I can get the story to pick up again, 'kay?

(P.S. in case you were wondering, I was perfectly serious about wanting to hear theories. _**Fuel my fire!**_ _**I demand you! **_*wizzardy fingers*)

Until next we meet.

-Lizzamil/Insomniac


	6. Chapter 5

_**Eyes of the devil**_  
><em><strong>Chapter 5<strong>_

_Warnings: Language, doubt of sanity, possible unreality triggers_

Yeah, no. Nope. Nu-uh. This is not what it looks like. This event here is purely for amusement, a slight swivel in events merely for the pleasure of the reader. Yeah. That's what this is. Totally. Because Norman Babcock _does not_ get lost. He _**does. Not**_. That tree does look kinda familiar, though. Can trees have twins...?

Pulling at his over-done, melodramatic hair, Norman gave an animalistic growl not unequal to what you'd expect from an overly frustrated and tired teenager.

...Okay, so _maybe_ he was _a little_ lost.

This wasn't good at all. It's been three days and it still didn't feel like Norman was out of Weightless Heights, and he didn't dare try to find a town. It takes practice and getting used to, but it's not that bad, living on the lam. Works great if you're avoiding human interaction at all costs.

**_'Now if only I had a map, or a compass or something.'_**

...Or maybe a boy-scout? But, oh yes, that's right! No ghosts. _Anywhere_. Which is a fucking phenomenon in and of itself, all things considered. Oh, the irony. Oh the painful, painful irony.

_**'Story of my life. I want something gone? Nope, apparently I actually want more of it. When I need it? Whoop! Oh, wait, shit, where did it go? **_**GOD.**

_**...Was that waterfall just now upside-down or am I hallucinating?'**_

With that thought, Norman took a few paces back and stepped around the tree he passed not two seconds ago. The waterfall was, in fact, completely right-side-up. Norman blinked slowly, deliberately, and considered the situation.

**_'_****When**_** exactly was the last time I slept...? Doesn't it take four days to start seeing things...?'**_

Decision made, he sat against a nearby tree, and nodded off almost immediately.

...And woke up sometime later to a cold snout sniffing him and pressing into his cheek. He opened up his eyes, groggily, only to startle both himself _and_ the deer currently investigating him by letting out a short, high-pitched squeak he made himself promise to never admit actually happened. The deer ran away, fearing for its life.

It was now late afternoon to evening, if one were to interpret how far the sun had set.

The sun.

/_Sets in the __**east.**_

Norman almost face-palmed, realising he could have used the sun for direction all along.

_How_ exactly could he forg- did a multicolored fish just fucking go _nyoom_ over his head?

Norman looked around, but could not find any fish, multicolored or otherwise, that were screaming _'nyoom'_ at the top of its lungs in the imitate vicinity.

He chalked it up to still being tired.

The Medium went over to the waterfall, took a drink and washed his face. The water was sticky and tasted of raspberry soda for a split second right before it was back to normal water again. However that was long enough to make Norman doubt his sanity. Was he finally losing it? Is he finally living up to the reputation that followed him like a shadow all over Blithe Hollow? _Where are all the fucking ghosts?!_

_**'Wait, no, no, nonononono, they can't be **_**gone**_**! They're **_**not**_** gone! They - they've gotta just be hiding! Yeah! I'm not crazy. I haven't been seeing ghosts because... because... be... be-because... am I crazy? Have I actually been crazy all this time? Did the ghosts even exist? **_**Have I actually just been seeing things all this time?!**_**'**_

Trying to stop hyperventilating, Norman quickly and without taking a big enough breath threw his head underwater, where he kept it until he almost involuntarily sucked in a lung-full of water. Now was not the time to start panicking. He was stressed, and his mind was just trying to ease the pressure it was under by playing tricks on itself. Or he somehow ingested LSD. Maybe both.

Crisis averted, he stood up, judged a direction to be south, and dragged his suddenly heavy feet forward, unsure.

**-Eyes of the Devil-**

Norma Babcock liked to consider herself a rather tolerant ghost. Hell, if she weren't she'd probably be a poltergeist by now.

However, even the most tolerant of people (or, former people) have their limits. For instance, being _trapped in a silver mirror_ really seemed like a good place to draw the line.

It's been two years, and there still hasn't been the slightest _hint_ of a way out. The ghost could never even figure out how she got into this predicament. The only thing her mirror has ever faced is the inside of a plush-velvet lined box, probably stuffed into the top shelf of a closet somewhere. If she squinted hard enough she could see what looked like intricate symbols carved into the box lid, as well as the sides of the mirrored glass itself.

She wondered again, for the umpteenth time, how Norman was doing. Was he okay? Was he scared? Lonely? ...Did he think Norma left of her own free will? Of course she didn't! She promised to always look after him! Her little boy...

She failed her little boy.

And now he must hate her for it.

_**'Ohh, when I get my hands on the jackass who did this-!'**_

**-Eyes of the Devil-**

"-'t _care!_... _D-n't_ fa-...m-...-'ll be on _your_ head!"

It was almost morning now. There haven't been anymore mishaps. And then _that voice_! Cutting in and cutting out like static, but it still makes a cold shiver run down his spine. Even broken up like over a telephone Dipshit's voice gives him goose bumps.

...But _why_ was it breaking up like that? If Dipper was in the area, screaming at people, shouldn't Norman be able to hear him a little more clearly?

_**'Please tell me this isn't the "visions" crisis all over again,'**_ The Medium pleaded, trying to soothe away a headache by violently massaging his temples.

_"Sorry,"_ it was as if the wind had whispered is, just a little farther away from his ear than his shoulder. But he convinced himself it was just the rustling of leaves.

_**'Are they screaming,**_

_**Are they dead?**_

_**All those voices,**_

_**In your head?'**_

_**'Well that was fucking morbid and out of nowhere.'**_

_"Sorry."_

_"Norman!"_

"Mom?" Norman questioned, startled. Why did she sound so clear? Wait, she's dead. Sorta. We'll he's only ever heard her screaming in unison with all the other ghosts in Blithe Hollow. Seconds passed without another sound. Satisfied that, that was the end of it, Norman turned to keep heading south.

**_"NORMAN!"_**

This time it wasn't just a call of his name, but a drawn-out, blood-curdling scream of panic that echoed off whatever surface it could find purchase on.

The Medium looked around and swallowed thickly. His breath was becoming longer and heavier, as if his lungs just weren't satisfied with whatever volume they were taking up. This was different from the background noise he was used to. This time it wasn't just generic screaming, it was pointed directly at him, almost as if accusing.

_**'Are they screaming,**_

_**Are they dead?**_

_**All those voices,**_

_**In your head?**_

The dark had never looked so daunting before. He felt as if it were closing in on him, trying to crush him from all sides, suffocate him. He's never felt so exposed. There wasn't even a star in the sky.

_"Norman!"_

"Wh- dad?" He sounded angry, rolling his son's name up his throat and up against his teeth like a feral growl. Norman's father was never abusive, but god could he scare the piss out of him sometimes.

_"Sorry."_

"WHY ARE YOU APOLOGIZING?!" Norman shouted at the sky.

_**'Are they screaming,**_

_**Are they dead?**_

_**All those voices,**_

_**In your head?'**_

_"Norman?"_

"C-courtney?"

_"Noooooormaaaaan~"_

"...Ne-neil? What's...?"

_"Norman!"_

"WHAT, MOM?"

_"I'm so sorry,"_ came that whisper in the wind again.

"WHAT ARE YOU SORRY FOR?" Norman all but screeched back at it, near panic and getting fed up with the situation.

_'Are they screaming,_

_Are they dead?_

_All those voices,_

_In your head?'_

_**'Is that Agatha's voice... ?'**_

And with that, the usual screaming started again, this time at sonic-boom level volume. It caused Norman's eyeballs to vibrate, distorting his vision. His head felt like it was going to _explode_ from the pressure. Finally, something took mercy on him and he blacked out.

Author's Note:

Haha, _good joke_! No, no, I'm _not dead_. Just a little mental. I got really busy with school, then I went to the _nut house_ (thank you stress and mental health issues) , and now I have more time on my hands but_ no_ inspiration. Funny, hey? This chapter was going to be longer but like I said, no inspiration for that, I already had this written before shit hit the fan. Hope you enjoyed!

-Lizzamil/Insomniac


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